


drunk off your body, your teeth, your blood.

by MetaAllu



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Actual Vampire Takashi Shirogane, Blood Drinking, Dubious Consent, Implied Consent, M/M, PIV, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, Trans Keith (Voltron), Trans Male Character, Trans Male Keith (Voltron), fear kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-02
Updated: 2018-11-02
Packaged: 2019-08-14 13:45:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16493708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MetaAllu/pseuds/MetaAllu
Summary: Keith's made a tradition of getting laid on Halloween.  Shiro sets his sights on him at a party.





	drunk off your body, your teeth, your blood.

**Author's Note:**

> me: starts writing halloween fic on november 1st
> 
> * Consent is meant to be implied, but since Keith is scared, he could be considered under duress, so I tacked on a dubious tag for good measure.

Halloween is the one night a year that Keith lets himself go out and get truly sloppy.  He finds the party with the most free-flowing booze, the loudest music, the most people, and then he half-asses it with a pair of devil horns and tight pants.

He pre-games with Pidge, Hunk, and Hunk’s boyfriend, Lance, who seems permanently glued to the guy’s side since they graduated to ‘will they, won’t they’ to ‘making the walls shake.’ They do shots of shitty vodka that burns like hell all the way down to Keith’s gut, but to the alcohol’s credit, he’s nice and buzzed by the time they show up to the party--already in full swing--in Hunk’s sinfully ugly yellow jeep.

They climb out, head inside, and then go their separate ways.  Keith is looking for more booze, but he’s also got his eye on the crowds.  People get freaky on Halloween, and Keith’s not about to end the night without getting laid.

The bass is booming, and the walls are shaking, even in the kitchen where there’s booze aplenty.  There’s people drinking wine someone brought, and there’s a keg, but Keith just grabs a dark-looking homebrew and then finds room on the dance floor, moving with his eyes closed, sweat gathering along the back of his thighs, the dip of his spine.  He finishes off the beer as he bobs to the music, lost in the fray and heat of moving bodies.

He opens his eyes to find a surface to put his empty beer bottle on, and that’s when he realizes someone is staring at him with a look that can only be described as  _ hungry _ .  He’s got broad shoulders, dark eyes, and a shock of white hair going through the rest of his dark hair.  He’s dressed real old-fashioned, got a whole cravat and a black coat with silver trim. It should look dweeby and stupid, but a guy with a body like that can  _ really  _ get away with anything.  Keith sets the empty bottle down, thumb dragging through the sweat on the warm bottle, and then he locks eyes and crooks his finger.

The man pushes himself off the wall and pushes through the sea of people without breaking eye contact.  His hands land on Keith’s hips and squeeze, and then he’s pulling Keith in, and Keith is wrapping his arms around his shoulders, smiling up at him.

“Hey,” Keith says, and the man flashes him a grin, and god damn, he’s got the sickest fangs.  That explains the dumb get-up at least. “I’m Keith.”

“Shiro,” the guy answers, leaning down to speak right into his ear as the two of them sway together to the beat of the music.  His thumbs are slipping up beneath the hem of Keith’s shirt, he’s pressing his mouth, cool and soft, to the skin behind Keith’s ear, then against his throat.  His tongue slips out, sliding along Keith’s sweaty, overheated skin. It should be disgusting and animal, and it is, but it still lights Keith’s blood on fire and he groans, bringing up a hand to curl in Shiro’s hair.  Shiro practically sounds like he’s purring, a rumble vibrating across Keith’s skin.

The sound of laughter and music is deafening, and there’s no point in trying to talk over it, so instead Keith just uses the leverage of his hand in Shiro’s hair to yank him into a kiss.  Their mouths meet sloppy and over-eager. Shiro’s tongue presses into Keith’s mouth as his hands drift higher up his shirt. His fingertips are somehow icy cold despite the heat of the rest of him, he tastes like expensive wine and shitty snack mix.  Shiro tugs him in closer, and Keith lets himself stumble along until his back is pressed up against a wall. Shiro’s mouth is all over him, pressing sloppy across his collarbone and then up over his adam’s apple, his throat, until he reaches his ear.

“You down?” is all he asks before pressing his hard cock up against Keith’s hip.  Keith swears his entire brain has just poured out of his ears and puddled onto the dirty carpet beneath them.

“Yeah,” Keith rasps.  “Fuck yeah.”

Humming, one of Shiro’s hands drifts away from him, and he almost whines until a draft of cool air heavy with the scent of dust hits him.  He blinks, and looks over where Shiro’s opened the door to the basement. He looks back at Shiro, who grins at him, again with those teeth, and then offers a hand.  Keith takes it, and lets himself be led down into the basement. The music is nothing but a dull thud, and Keith’s ears are ringing as Shiro fumbles on a light. There’s a den set-up with an old sofa and a TV, a coffee table stacked high with sports magazines and a plate precariously stacked on top that probably had pizza or something on it at some point or another, but has since been abandoned to the basement.

“Huh,” Keith says.  “People don’t come down here much, do they?”

Shiro’s got his hands on Keith, is working off his shirt, but he still finds the time to say “That’s the idea.”

Keith snorts and pulls his shirt the rest of the way up off his head, dumping it on the floor before pushing Shiro towards the ratty couch and crawling into his lap before working on the 600 or so buttons Shiro’s dumb’s costume has.

“Not keen on sharing?” he asks, joking, but Shiro just says “Not really,” in a voice that makes it clear how much he means that.  That shouldn’t be a turn on, especially not since it’s some stranger he’s using for a drunken fuck.

Keith tilts his head, raises his eyebrows and then pushes Shiro’s shirt off his shoulders, fingers skirting down his chest to his pants.  “Lucky for you you caught my eye, then.”

Shiro’s noses at his jaw, pressing sucking kisses along the bone.  “Yeah,” he breathes out. “Lucky me,” and then he’s unbuttoning Keith’s pants.  When he can’t tug them down without significant effort, he settles for just shoving his hand directly into Keith’s underwear, fingers pressed tight to Keith’s dick and pussy.  He cups him, fingers grinding eagerly, pushing two into the first knuckle before spreading wetness around as he lets out another near-purr and a reverent “Oh,  _ yes _ .  You’re so wet for it.  I could smell how hungry you were for a fuck.  I saw you there, dancing, beckoning, and I had to have you.  I can’t  _ wait  _ to get a taste of you.”

Suddenly, Keith needs to get rid of his pants very badly.

He starts to get up, hands going to the waistline of his jeans, but Shiro’s growls and tugs him closer, tugs him down and up against the erection straining on his pants.

“Not yet,” he whispers hotly, speaking into Keith’s collarbones.  “The longer you wait, the sweeter you’ll taste for me.”

Keith’s breath hitches, and then Shiro’s mouth is wrapped around one of his nipples and he’s sucking, careful with his fake fangs, bless him.  With nowhere else to expel the frantic energy under his skin, Keith pushes his hips down into Shiro’s lap, groaning as his cock presses up against Shiro’s.  Shiro rumbles against his skin, then kisses to the other nipple, mouth open and sloppy, breaths panting out of him. He flicks his gaze up briefly, and Keith swears his irises are lined with red, and then he’s tilting his head back, staring at the pipes lining the basement ceiling.

“Shiro,” he whispers, his voice feeling too loud and desperate in the quiet of the basement.  People above their heads are chanting along with whatever song is playing, like a frenetic gospel choir, and Keith’s head is spinning with arousal and booze and sudden vertigo as Shiro  _ snarls  _ and pushes him down, grabbing his pants and clawing them down his legs, leaving angry red marks with his nails from the forces.  He kisses viciously up Keith’s thighs, teeth digging hard enough into the skin to leave marks until he’s pushing his mouth and nose up against the wet spot in Keith’s briefs.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Shiro breathes, warm against his clothed skin. He grabs with two fingers and then pulls the underwear aside, inhaling slowly.  “ _ Oh _ .  You’re so wet for me.  I could live here.” His tongue flickers out, licking Keith from hole to cock, and then he looks up again, teeth bared.  His eyes are  _ definitely  _ red.

“You’re--” Keith starts, breath squeaking out of him.

“Shhh,” Shiro says, voice grown soft, deeper, and it feels like it’s rolling through Keith’s blood.  “Don’t be afraid, baby. I won’t hurt you any more than you want me to. You want me to, don’t you? I can smell it on you.  You want my cock pounding you while I sink my teeth into you. A little terror, a little animosity, that just makes it better.  I know your type, beautiful. I’ll make your legs shake with pleasure, and all you have to do is let me have a drink while I’m making you scream for me.  You can do that, can’t you?”

Some old, reptile part of Keith is telling him to run, telling him this man, this  _ thing _ , is dangerous; but he’s right.  Keith does want that. He wants to hurt and shake and scream for it.  He swallows, and  _ god _ , Shiro is watching his throat, watching his pounding pulse.  He whimpers, but when Shiro licks him again, he doesn’t move away.  That seems to be all that Shiro needs.

There’s a joke about ‘giving Shiro permission to come in’ floating around somewhere in Keith’s brain, but his tongue is heavy and useless when he opens his mouth, Shiro licking into him and then sucking around his cock, tongue flicking mischievously over it.  He bobs his head, increases the suction, pressing Keith’s blood-filled dick dangerously against his fangs, but he’s careful not to pierce the skin. He seems like the kind of guy who would take his time on a different day, in another place, but here and now he is well and truly  _ starved _ as he works Keith up and up and up, and then he’s grabbing Shiro by his hair, pushing him in closer, begging for it as he comes.

Shiro lifts his head slowly, lips and chin wet with him.  He licks his lips, kissing his way back up. He traps Keith’s wrists with one hand, the other busy with his own pants, which he only pushes far down enough to free his straining dick, dark and dusky with desire.  His tongue runs over his lips, over his  _ teeth _ , and Keith finds his eyes fixating there as Shiro smirks, crowding him, settling between his spread thighs and sliding his cock through Keith’s slick.

“You’re afraid, aren’t you?” Shiro says, smirking down at him.  Keith nods, swallowing around the dryness in his throat. Shiro inhales slowly, reaching down to brush his thumb slowly over Keith’s cock, running along it over and over.  “I know,” he tells him. “I can smell it on you. You’re afraid, but you want it so bad. It’s intoxicating. You’re perfect. I haven’t felt this hungry in a long time.” Then he presses his dick into Keith’s hole.  “I can’t wait to taste you,” he echoes, wicked and low and Keith keens, clamping down around the girth inside of him; and as Shiro’s snaps his hips into Keith, he surges forward and presses his mouth to Keith’s neck.

He can feel the second when teeth break skin.  He thrashes and screams, but Shiro’s got a firm hold on him, and no one can hear him down here in the basement.

“Please,” Keith begs, unsure what he’s begging for.  Shiro hums and starts fucking into him with shallow, grinding thrusts that have Keith’s hand squeezing into fists and tears pricking in his eyes.  Shiro’s sucking at his neck like he’s leaving a hickey, but there’s a tugging, deeper, horrible and skin-crawling and Keith sobs as horror rises up.

Shiro pulls away slowly, lapping at what is definitely a bleeding wound.  “It’s okay, baby,” he whispers. “Don’t think about it. Don’t you feel good?  I can feel you squeezing around me, I can taste it. I know you want it. I know you want my cock.” He thrusts for emphasis.  “Concentrate on that. Don’t worry about anything other than how good I’m making you feel. What do you need? Do you need it harder?  Faster?”

He’s surprisingly tender for a blood-sucking vampire.

“F-faster,” Keith stutters out, and Shiro complies.  Keith can feel him watching and listening, mouth hovering against his skin but not pressing against it.  Shiro’s breath is harsh against his skin, and once Keith is well and truly gasping for it, Shiro starts to stroke and grind his fingers against Keith’s cock, the heat that was until now brewing beneath the surface coming to a concentrated head.  Keith’s nails dig into the sweaty, clammy skin of Shiro’s back, and then he’s coming again, biting down a scream. Shiro’s teeth sink back into his skin, but Keith can’t bring himself to care because Shiro’s hand don’t stop, and his thrusting doesn’t stop, and the orgasms goes on and on, and then it turns into overwhelmed discomfort, but Shiro fucks him through that, too, until he’s crying, tears sliding down his cheeks, his entire body shaking and sloppy.

Shiro licks his lips when he finally pulls away.  His lips are coated red, and he swipes his equally red tongue over them again before laughing almost sheepishly and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“I’m sorry.  I try not to be a sloppy eater, but…” He looks Keith over, his eyes filled with absolute satisfaction.  Keith just whimpers. Shiro pushes his sweaty hair back with a tender, cool hand, then leans down to kiss his forehead.  “It’s all right, sweetheart. You did so well.”

He helps Keith pull on his underwear and shirt, gets him some juice and a blanket, and then he rifles through the pockets of his coat for a wallet, pulling a business card out of it and putting it on Keith’s chest.

“Call me,” he purrs, and then he shrugs on his jacket and heads back up the stairs to the party.


End file.
